Having finished uni I’ve been spending a lot more time in the house than usual, not only to job hunt but also to save money. While I’d be out for lunch and cinema trips and other costly things every day if I could, I have to bypass some of the finer things in life and settle for re-watching every TV series I have ever watched. (Prison Break check, Breaking Bad check, currently revisiting The Walking Dead.)
As most of my friends are clearly more desirable employees than me and consequently have stable jobs, I am regularly indoors throughout the day. This is bad news for my cat, Teddy. Oh, you want to go and play with the pretty black and white girl cat from down the street? No, you are my pet and your duty is to keep me company. Whilst tempting him to stay with me using treats is all well and good, he is actually a very naturally fat cat and if I did this too much he’d probably get to the point where he was physically unable to leave my side. Though I’d enjoy the cuddly company I don’t think that would be very kind.
So I regularly smother Teddy with my love and repeatedly carry him up to my room, where he stays for a few minutes before going to sit with his face several inches away from the door to indicate his displeasure of my company. I will hold him and try to charm him by cooing love songs in his ear, hoping that my overwhelming affection will persuade him to stay and let me stroke him for a while. He is very heavy so really should appreciate the effort that goes into picking him up. Instead I am rewarded by an angry purr while he stares at me as if I’m the most unacceptable creature he’s ever come across. It’s all a different story at night when he comes in seeking my attention, headbutting me with the force of a baby Rhino, spreading himself out on my bed and allowing me only a small corner to sit on. I begrudgingly let him have all the strokes and cuddles he shunned during the day because he’d rather be out pretending to catch birds than keeping me company. (Sometime as he trots off outside to escape me I spitefully remind him that he is far too fat and slow and would therefore have no chance in catching anything.)
So I think my cat wants me to get a job, too. He’s fed up of hearing me baby-talk at him and tell him how beautiful he is. And I don’t think his sanity could take one more of my renditions of Adele’s ‘Someone Like You,’ sung at him from across the room while he scratches desperately at the closed door.